The Beginning and The End: A Lone Wanderer Novel
by SurprisinglyOdd
Summary: Every night, her father told her he was Alpha and Omega. What he didn't tell her was why he had to leave her behind. Thrust into war-torn apocalyptia in search of something to fight for, Grace Arlyn opens her eyes and discovers how to stand on her own two feet. What she doesn't expect is for those footprints to mark down history in the Capital Wasteland. War never changes.
1. The Beginning

_Gray Walls, impenetrable steel._  
 _Suffocation! Condemnation!_

* * *

Her childhood was a faded photograph of a life that had passed on long before. She was a baby who giggled at pictures of a smiling sun but would never know the warmth of its rays against her face. Every sunrise was the flickering of fluorescent lights, every gulp of fresh air was filtered through unseen vents. This was her home and it was all she knew. She loved it. She adored Vault 101 with everything in her, finding a strange sort of comfort in the impersonal sterility of the doctor's office that she flitted in and out of, hunching over a book in the corner when the day was slow and tending injured patients with enthusiastic gusto as soon as she was old enough to be trusted with her father's equipment.

She made her place at the front of the classroom, marking her presence with an eager hand shooting to the sky, the hasty scribblings of messy notes soon to be copied in neat, rounded text. Most of what she knew was learned in this room, from mathematics to chemistry, literacy to technology, even tales of the outside and what the world had become. She learned to be reserved and studious, expressing herself with the flourish of a pen and the whirring of machines that she'd taken apart and put back together. The tap-tap-tap of her hammer was the crack of a gunshot; the bold red underlining of titles and key facts was the only spilled blood she knew. This vault was a separate world from the horrors of the outside, yet they played make-believe with games like Radroach Hunter and Find the Raider. The children she played with were rambunctious balls of energy, feverish with curiosity and delight. Their imaginations painted vivid scenes across the grey canvas of their world. Through stories and play, they discovered the feeling of tall grass tickling their feet, the heat of sunlight burning their backs, even the stinging agony of gunshot wounds became so undeniably tangible.

But the door remained closed.

She made inquiries from a very young age, but it wasn't long before she began to recognise the familiar darting of eyes and the restless drumming of hands against tables. Even the biggest gossips on the level would squirm beneath this question's unshifting glare. Every pair of lips were as tightly sealed as the Vault door - that great big hunk of metal would never budge and that was just the way of things. The door would never open. The outside world would never be safe. No one would ever enter the vault and no one would ever leave. Here she was born and here she would die. These facts were agonising in their simplicity, but her aching fascination with what lay beyond soon faded, like an intense headache that throbbed for so long that the steady drumming became almost a comfort.

* * *

 _Little hands groping in subterranean uncertainty.  
Mommy? Daddy? Am I Dead?_

* * *

Every night, her father told her he was Alpha and Omega. As a toddler, she would rest her head on his chest and let the strange poem lull her to sleep, too young to find comfort in the verse but old enough to find it in the rise and fall of his chest. After some years passed, she came to recognise the unspoken hope that came with the reading of this passage. She was almost startled to find the same sort of wistfulness in her own voice every time she murmured the prayer, not quite believing in the book it came from, but following the morals of the people who did. Her mother had been one of those people, she was told. This had been her very favourite quote. Her father told her never to forget it.

 _"I am Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely."_

She never did.

* * *

 _Nay! Nay! Reborn into purifying fluorescence!_

 _A face emerges, strong and male._

 _Father to me? Father to all!_

* * *

With life in the vault came a speedy adolescence, an interminable period of growth and emotion that passed by in flashes of memories. Getting her first Pip-Boy at the proud age of ten, as well as her new vault responsibilities. Applying her first bandage became taking her first blood sample became mending her first broken limb became completing her first basic surgery. Having her radio confiscated by The Overseer when it had picked up some stranger's howling voice. Finding blood in the strangest of places - like her nose when she spent too long on the Reactor Level, like her knuckles when she finally found the courage to punch that bully's stupid face in, like her underwear when her father explained that boys and girls were very different. Sudden flares of energy, anger, self-doubt and lethargy as she searched for her place in this tin can world.

 _"You know, having a best friend who knows more about mechanics than make-up is-"_

 _"Correct once again, Miss Arlyn! Next week's examination is sure to be a br-"_

 _"I'm the Overseer's daughter, so what? Like I get any special-"_

 _"I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end."_

While other kids began to spit at their parents' feet, she continued to adore her father with all her heart. She shared with him her greatest goals and ambitions, told him of day-to-day shenanigans or thoughts that had been eaten up her mind from morning to night. She ranted and raved about the ridiculous Tunnel Snake gang that Butch had come up with, griped about how that arrogant peacock and his cronies would grab her best friend Amata in all kinds of unusual places. The birds and the bees had been the most alarming result of that particular conversation.

 _"Whatcha gonna do, Gracie, go cry to your daddy?"_

 _"Leave her alone, Butch, or I'll go crying to Amata's. Let's see what the Overseer thinks of you and your little club."_

 _"It's not a club, Ice Bitch, it's a gang! We're the Tunnel Snakes! Tunnel Snakes rule!"_

The name-calling became more severe just as her classmates did, the youth of Vault 101 growing as harsh and angry as the pimples on their faces. Geek, Nerd, Four-Eyes, all the familiar titles of childhood were washed away with the acid stains of Bitch, Prude, Miss Fucking Perfection. Life became more complicated than she'd ever imagined it would. She was isolated by her love of science, left to wonder why it distanced her from the other girls in her class - who she secretly yet unabashedly respected and admired. She watched other people fall in love all around her, understood the simple formula of Boy + Girl = Undeniable Attraction until one day she didn't understand that at all.

 _"I amputated a foot today, Amata - I seriously doubt you're gonna freak me out more than that did."_

 _"Okay, okay, it's just... I don't think I like boys. Not like Christie does, you know? I think... I think..."_

 _"That you'd rather kiss Christie than any of the boys whose names are all over her journals?"_

 _"No, actually, that's- that's the thing. I think I'd rather kiss you."_

On Amata's fifteenth birthday, that was exactly what happened. She'd staged the most spectacular surprise party, invited everyone she knew and bought their silence with the promise of the best birthday cake they'd ever seen. The lights went on, the music swelled and the day was perfect until that stupid robot sliced the cake. They'd been talking at the counter, idle chit-chat forgotten about the instant Andy brought his chainsaw arm down on the delicate confectionery. It happened in a splat of pink frosting and the sudden uproar of good-natured laughter as she and the Birthday Girl were splattered with three layers of icing and sponge. Something must have clicked, snapped, sparked during the precious frosting-dusted seconds before their lips met for a fumbling, dizzying, buttercream-tasting first kiss.

Harsh laughter slashed through that perfect rose-tinted recollection. Tunnel Snakes. Butch. Plastic cups and paper plates being tossed to the tiles. Cheeks flaming, eyes burning, rough hands on her arms, blood roaring in her ears, a voice ripping through her consciousness. The smell of alcohol.

 _"Surprise, surprise! Should've known it all along, right, boys?"_

 _"Can't believe we got tricked into partying with a couple of dykes."_

 _"So that's why you wouldn't take a ride on the Tunnel Snake. Couldn't take your eyes off Miss Fucking Perfection, huh, Amata?"_

She left the dining hall with a bloodied nose and a girlfriend who spat out promises of vengeance. Together, they devised a genius plan and set to work a week after the party. A few tweaks in the plumbing flooded the bathroom that Butch and Katie were 'meeting up' in. They promised Andy another cake to smash if he floated into the bathroom and took a few snapshots. The next day, he printed off two wonderful polaroids of Butch storming from the bathroom, half dressed, sopping wet with eyes like thunder.

* * *

 _Overseeing our lives, our eternities._

 _Harshness of discipline, h_ _arshness of love_

 _Obedience my saviour!_

* * *

 **You are approached by a frenzied Vault scientist who yells: "I am going to put my quantum harmonizer in your photonic resonation chamber!" How do you respond?**

 _1\. "But, doctor, wouldn't that cause a parabolic destabilisation of the fission singularity?"_

2\. "Yeah? Up yours too, buddy!"

3\. Say nothing and grab a nearby object to knock the doctor out.

4\. Distract him and slip away before he even knows you are gone.

 **While working as a Clinic Intern, a patient stumbles in with strange foot infection that seems to be spreading at an alarming rate. The doctor has stepped out for a while, leaving you on your own. How do you proceed?**

1\. Amputate the foot before the infection spreads.

2\. Scream for help.

 _3\. Isolate and medicate to the best of your abilities._

4\. Restrain the patient and observe as the infection spreads.

 **You discover a young boy lost in the lower levels of the Vault. He is hungry and frightened - but seems to be in possession of stolen property. What do you do?**

1\. Confiscate the stolen goods and leave the boy behind as punishment.

 _2\. Give the boy a hug and tell him everything will be alright._

3\. Pickpocket the stolen property and leave him to his fate.

4\. Lead the boy to safety and turn him in to the Overseer.

 **Who is indisputably the single most important resident in Vault 101, he who shelters us from the harshness of the atomic wasteland and to whom we owe everything including our lives?**

1\. The Overseer

2\. The Overseer

 _3\. The Overseer_

4\. The Overseer

 **Your grandmother invites you to tea, but you're surprised when she hands you a 10mm pistol and orders you to kill another Vault resident. What do you do?**

1\. Obey your elder and kill the resident with the pistol.

2\. Offer your most prized possession for the resident's life.

3\. Ask granny for a minigun instead - you don't want to miss, after all.

 _4\. Throw your tea in granny's face._

* * *

 _Larva to pupa, pupa to worker._

 _Buzz! Buzz! One with the steel honeycomb._

* * *

Turning sixteen was the best thing to ever happen to her. She completed her GOAT exam and was assigned the role of Electrical Maintenance, but it wasn't hard to persuade Brotch the Crotch into giving her the position of Certified Vault Doctor. No way was she letting Abigail Royce succeed her father in that role, not as long as she still drew breath and the Vault door remained shut. While her father trained her, she was given the freedom to study anything she wanted. She worked on the Reactor Level with her father's friend, Jonas, making repairs and keeping everything in check. Some days she just stopped by to say hello. She'd spend hours down there, reading and studying to the sweet music of crackling electricity. Her and Jonas would happily babble to each other about this and that, or just hum along to the radio when the day was dull.

By her seventeenth birthday, she had fully won herself the reputation of a smart and studious girl with a passion for science. She respected her elders, aced every exam, reported serious rule breakages to The Overseer. But in secret, she grew almost as wicked as the Tunnel Snakes, taking poorly-hidden delight in sneaking off from duties to pull pranks and explore the Vault with Amata. She scavenged scrap metal and whatever blueprints she could find, building toasters and radios and other useless contraptions only to take them apart and make them into something else. The therapeutic hobby never grew dull when Amata was with her, painting on a canvas or doodling in a notebook. Aside from the occasional malfunction in the water purifier, life was perfect in Vault 101.

Nothing ever went wrong.

* * *

 _Till grey seeps from the walls, to hair, to soul._

 _Then, eternal slumber, the sweet sleep of incineration._


	2. S is For Strength!

_"Attention! Please remain calm and stay indoors! The radroach infestation is currently being dealt with! This is no cause for alarm! Please remain calm and stay indoors! The radroach infestation is currently being dealt with! This is no cause for alarm! Please remain calm and stay indoors! The radroach infestation is currently-"_

* * *

"Grace! Grace, wake up! You have to go - now!"

A voice from far off in the distance drained the colour from her dreams and shook her into consciousness. Grace Arlyn grumbled and pulled herself into a sitting position, shaking out her springy mane of hair. Slowly, sleepily, she began to get her bearings. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a pair of wide eyes. A shock of brown hair pulled loosely into a bun. A triad of moles on the girl's left cheek and a sickly yellow bruise on her right. The sight was enough to shake her into lucidity. A quick glance at her Pip-Boy told her that it was a few minutes past six in the morning.

"Amata? What's wrong?"

"You've got to get out of here! Your dad is gone and my father's men are looking for you!"

"What? Amata, what are you talking about? Dad disappears all the time, it's nothing s-"

"Jonas is dead."

Her eyes widened. Her words stuck in her throat. "Jonas is-? No, no, there's been a mistake, there's-"

"This isn't like all those other times, Grace. Your dad is gone - really gone. He left the Vault. I don't know how, I don't know why, but my father's men killed Jonas for helping your dad escape and now they're looking for you."

"No, no, you're wrong." She got to her feet. "There's no way he could've-"

"Gracie, listen to me, please." She took her by the arms, looking into her eyes with pleading intensity. Grace was grateful for the embrace, but only because it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs were swaying unsteadily beneath her and the room was starting to spin, ugly belches of colour appearing on the walls as her vision grew hazy. "I know Jonas was your friend, but we don't have time to figure things out right now. We need to go. We need to leave."

"No one leaves the Vault, Amata - those are the rules!"

But somehow the rules didn't stop her from heading to the wardrobe and pulling out a jumpsuit.

"Well, the rules are changing. After everything I just told you, how can you still be spouting that bullshit?!"

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, but still she laced up her boots. "This is some kind of prank, isn't it? Some kind of joke? Well, it's not funny, Amata!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake- wake up, Grace! I know this seems impossible, but it's happening. It's real. We're leaving Vault 101."

As she reached for the baseball bat by the door, Grace Arlyn told herself that this couldn't be happening. As she dumped the contents of her desk into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, she told herself this couldn't be real. As she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and prepared to say goodbye to everything she knew and loved, she told herself that this was all just a bad dream. She would wake up any minute now, and when she did, she would laugh at the absurdity of her father - her _father,_ of all people - opening the Vault door and leaving her behind. She would wake up and she wouldn't hear the alarm blaring in the distance, she wouldn't hear Amata telling her about the secret tunnel in her father's office that led directly to the exit. She would wake up and Jonas would not be dead, her father would not be gone, her life would not be over.

"One more thing, I, uh- I stole my father's pistol. I hope to God you won't have to use it. Best split up - I'll meet you at the exit. Good luck, Gracie."

* * *

Home was not as she knew it.

Chaos was holding Vault 101 by its neck and throttling it, watching it gasp and squirm for release. Security men were crawling over the place like radroaches; faces she knew as well as her own were twisted into masks of hatred and anger as the armoured guards shouted for back-up and drew their batons. There was nothing she could do but run. She pelted down hallways, swerved around sharp corners, raced through seventeen years of memories until her lungs were burning and her bones were screaming back at the wailing alarms. Snapping her head both ways in search of opposition, she chose the most favourable route and pelted down it, boots slamming hard against metal.

Collision.

The force knocked her breathless. Grace leapt back and readied her baseball bat. Her eyes widened in alarm when she found that the frantic figure in front of her wasn't wearing a riot helmet and pepper spray, but an ugly leather jacket.

"Butch?"

"Grace! Aw, man, it's you! That's great!"

Her brows furrowed. It was strange enough that the bully's happiness seemed genuine, but the more she looked at him, the more she could sense that something wasn't right. Duties didn't start until noon today, yet the Tunnel Snake was up, alert, and had even found time to gel his hair. His skin was alarmingly pale, his eyes rimmed with red. A cold dread nestled in the pit of her stomach.

"All that talk about the doc gettin' out, The Overseer goin' crazy, that's all true, ain't it? You're really gettin' out of here?"

"It's all true," she replied breathlessly, still not sure if she believed it. "Why do you care?"

"Hey, Gracie?" He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "You know I never meant any of that stuff, right? All that playin' around, all the stupid pranks, it was all good fun, right? You know I'd never do anythin' to, y'know, proper hurt you or anything. We were just playin' around, weren't we?"

"I'm sorry, Butch, but I really need to go."

"You'll come back, won't ya? After all this is done, when The Overseer cools down, you'll come back, right? 'Cause I- I gotta help my mom, you know I gotta stick by my mom, but I was thinkin' if you ever wanted to come back here and-"

"Butch - listen to me! My dad is gone and my best friend's father wants to kill me. One of my closest friends is _dead_ and you think I want to come back here?" She pursed her lips. "I do. I do, I- I don't want to leave this place. But I can't come back here, you know that. Just get inside, keep your mom safe. I don't why you want me sticking around and I don't care, but- but-" She swallowed a sob, brushing away her tears before they could fall. She'd never had to say goodbye before. "I have to go, Butch, I'm sorry."

"Alright, alright, just-" He shrugged off his jacket and pressed it into her arms. "Keep it. Really. Remember me, won't ya?"

With a look of blank disbelief, she slipped one arm into the huge sleeve, then the other, only managing a nod of thanks before she was gone. She pelted through the empty diner and through the opposite door, so far finding herself free of opposition as she headed up the steps to the atrium. A guard was waiting for her. She half-raised her baseball bat, taking a few uncertain steps back as a scurrying of radroaches grabbed the guard's attention. He had half a second to register the presence of Vault 101's Most Wanted before the bloated bugs leapt for his face.

She didn't waste a second. She shot past him like a whizzing bullet and skidded around a corner, where Andy was roasting another onslaught of roaches with his flamethrower. Stanley from the Maintenance Department was yelling encouragement. She almost allowed a smile to flicker on her lips, before she realised that this was the last time she'd ever see the ridiculous duo again, the last time she'd ever be around to witness the antics of the malfunctioning Mr. Handy and the witty old repairman with the bum leg.

The atrium door was just up ahead.

"C'mon, Christie, we can do it, we really can! We're getting out of here just like the doctor!"

"I don't know, Mike. Mr. Brotch says it isn't safe out there. Hell, everyone says it isn't safe out there! We aren't supposed to leave, they told us that!"

"Forget what they told us! I'm sick of this place, I can't stand it anymore! The guards are at the end of the hall, I'll tell them to let me past, just wait here."

"Be careful!"

Grace waited by the door as Mike strode across towards the hallway. She and Christie shared a worried glance, neither daring to speak. It was strange, she thought, realising that the beautiful girl who all the boys wanted was just like her. Seeing Christie as she was, seeing her peeled back and exposed to such primal urgency and terror, revealed their similarities in such a raw way that it shocked her to the core. They were both just scared little girls, afraid for what they might be forced to leave behind. When Mike announced his presence to the waiting guards, Christie took her hand and squeezed it tight.

Grace had never known there were so many different ways to say goodbye.

A gunshot sounded and the moment was gone. Christie stumbled back as the boy from the back of the classroom twitched and jerked, dancing backwards until his legs could no longer carry him. That was the worst part, that fall. How he writhed in screaming agony and twisted his body around in search of an exit, in search of an escape, in search of a miracle. Her gaze was fixated on the fallen boy's body and her world was nothing but Mike Stoner. She hadn't even heard herself screaming until Christie began to sob, until the world exploded to life in a distant haze of motion. She pulled Christie aside, ushering her towards the door across the room and slamming down on the wall button with a trembling hand.

The door sealed behind them and Mike Stoner was dead. His death peeled back hundreds of layers of steel from these walls and revealed the crumbling infrastructure beneath, revealed the rotting corruption that lay in the heart of the home she'd known all her life. She regarded herself with something close to distance, like she was watching herself carry the screaming girl from some abstract area up above, until she herself became that screaming girl and the same time someone who was entirely detached from her agony. The phantom of her indifference held her upright and led her across the next room. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished away the blaring of alarms, the flickering sign that screamed **HARD WORK IS HAPPY WORK** and the ridiculous reasoning inside her head. She fell in and out of her own body before another rooted her fully to the ground.

The body of Floyd Lewis lay collapsed in the middle of the maintenance room, and Grace Arlyn, for once in her life, was awake.

"He beat me by one point," Christie said with a nervous laugh. "On the G.O.A.T test, he- he beat me by one point. You and him, you both got Electrical Maintenance and I- I was third. He beat me and I never talked to him again. Oh, God." Her face fell, as if she had just remembered something. "Mike."

"You need to stay here, Christie, you can't go any further." Grace held her gently by the arms, trying to shake the dazed woman from her stupor. "You can tell them you were trying to save Floyd, tell them I got away before you could stop me. It'll be okay, Christie, I promise. It'll be alright."

* * *

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything!"

"Amata?" Grace breathed, following the sound of her friend's trembling voice. When she reached the window to her left, she froze. Amata was seated on a swivel chair in the centre of one of the storage rooms. Officer Mack leaned over her, hand raised, while her father- she sucked in a breath - her father, The Overseer, stood behind his daughter and watched the security chief smack her across the face.

"She's my friend!" Amata sobbed. "I was worried about her! What does she have to do with any of this anyway?!"

"Amata, don't make me keep this up," The Overseer warned. "Officer Mack may enjoy this, but I certainly don't. We just want to find your friend so we can talk to her, make sure she doesn't do anything... drastic."

"I told you, I don't know where she is. Daddy, I promise!"

As the officer's fist came down on her again, Grace gathered her resolve and shook her head, a solemn and final _no_ to everything she'd seen so far, to everything this man had done. She slammed her fist on the wall button. When the door opened, she barrelled into the room, released a scream of anger, and slammed her baseball bat across Officer Mack's head. He crumpled like a house of cards.

"Get away from her!" She threatened, as Amata scrambled to her feet and felt her way to the door, not daring to take her eyes off her father.

"Assaulting an officer," The Overseer tutted. "Yet another offence you've committed today, young lady. I only ever let Amata be your friend because I thought you'd be a good influence on her." He gave her a calculating once-over, eyeing her protective stance with visible distaste. "I hope you're here to turn yourself in. You're already in enough trouble as it is - don't make it worse for yourself."

"What are you talking about?" She demanded, her voice shrill with fear. "I didn't do anything! You're the one who had me hunted down like an animal! You stood there and let Amata get hurt! What's wrong with you?!"

"I place the good of the Vault above everything, even my own paternal feelings. We must not allow sentiment to cloud our judgement! You've been good to her all these years, and I admire your protectiveness of her, but throwing down that weapon and handing yourself in is the only way to ensure her safety. Go on, that's a good girl. Just set it right there - good. You were always a good little girl, always knocking on my door, reporting this incident and that incident, making sure everyone was safe and out of trouble. There's no need to join the doctor as a traitor to your home, is there?"

"Is that what you said to Jonas before you got him killed?"

"A regrettable incident, but drastic actions require drastic measurements, I'm afraid. Everything I did, I did for the Vault, to keep you safe, to keep all of you safe. Your father tried to compromise that by filling people's heads with poison, by going behind my back, betraying my trust and endangering us all by opening up that door. There's really no need to follow in his footsteps."

"I'd follow my father to the ends of the earth. He's a good man, and a far better one than you."

"Now, now, you know I-"

"You got one of my best friends killed! Your officers are down there _murdering_ people and you're just letting it happen! Maybe my father is a traitor, but you're a murderer and a bully, and I know for a fact that he would _never_ stand by and watch me get hurt."

"Ah, but isn't that exactly what he's done? He abandoned you, he left you to fend for yourself. You're all alone in here, just you and me, and where's your dear old dad, hm? Off wandering the wasteland without you, searching for something more important to him than you could ever be."

"If there's something so important to my father that he had to leave safety behind to find it, leave his daughter behind to find it, then I'll be following in his footsteps and searching for it myself." Her voice trembled like the weapon in her hands as she aimed her gun at The Overseer's head. "I'll just need the key to your office and the password to your terminal. After that, it won't matter what my father did, it won't matter if his actions make me a traitor too, because you'll never hear from either of us again."

"If you so badly want to die like your dear daddy, I'll be happy to oblige. You won't even need to go through the trouble of opening the Vault door."

"Unlike you, Mr. Almodovar, I really don't want to kill anyone today. Please reconsider."

"Guards!" The Overseer cried, before she pulled the trigger.

The weapon jumped in her hand and The Overseer fell. Blood poured from his head and pooled on the metal floor. The gun clattered to the ground. She covered her mouth with her hands to suppress the terrified sob that escaped her lips; her legs buckled beneath her and she stumbled back until she hit the wall. She gulped down a breath, running a shaking hand through her hair as the corpse blurred in her tear-stained vision. The ringing in her ears carried an unshakeable finality, settled by the silence that fell soon after. She stepped gingerly towards the body, her nose crinkling at the acrid stench that rose from it. She forced herself to look, forced herself to stare down at the gaping wound and the staring eyes and she couldn't, she couldn't, she-

She had killed her best friend's father.

It was too much for her. She bent down and squeezed her eyes shut, tentatively rooting through the dead man's pockets until a brush of her hand jangled his keys. Her fingers closed tight around them. There was no sign of anything with the terminal password on it and she had no desire to spend another second in this room that reeked of death. She spared one final glance at the body and tore her eyes away. A killer, she bent down to retrieve the dead man's gun. A monster, she reached for the baseball bat that lay by the door. When she reached the hallway, Grace Arlyn was a murderer Amata was waiting for her.

"You killed him," she accused, taking a cautious step back. Her eyes were wide and full of fear. "You killed him, how- how could you kill him?! He was my dad!"

"Amata, I-"

"I was just trying to help you! I saved your life, I helped you get out of here! I thought it would be easy, I didn't think anyone would get hurt, but you _killed_ him!"

When she spoke again, it was as if they'd never met when they were four years old, never explored the lower levels together and defended each other from radroaches, never shared their first kiss at Amata's fifteenth birthday, covered in pastel pink icing. It was as if they'd never crept into Grace's room during Christie's Hallowe'en party, as if they'd never torn off each other's ridiculous costumes in the knowing darkness, dissipating into nothing but giggles and murmurs and gasps. It was as if they'd never sworn to be together for the rest of their lives - best friends if nothing else. It was as if they'd never promised that, even after Vault requirements had them paired off with genetically adequate partners, they would still love each other in secret and silence. It was as if they'd never sliced open their palms and named themselves Blood Brothers when they were nine, never surprised each other with presents and polaroids, never even said 'hello'.

When she spoke again, the hope shattered. When she spoke again, the memories died. When she spoke again, they were strangers.

"The password to my father's terminal is Amata. Now go."

"Amata-"

"Get out, Grace! I hope you make it out there, I really do. I hope you never find out what it's like to have your father die right in front of you. But I never want to see your face again, I never want you to come back here ever again. I'm calling the guards. You have one minute."

* * *

"Oh my God. Jonas?"

She rushed for the body and crouched down next to it, choking back a sob at the hopeless sight. The technician was staring blankly at the ceiling, his glasses smashed, his face badly bruised, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. She took his hand. "I'm so sorry, Jonas. I'm so, so, sorry, I-" She paused. There was something clutched in his right hand, something flat and square. A holotape. She pried his grip loose, flinching at the clammy coldness that seemed to seep from the body and into her skin. The words _note from dad_ had been scrawled hastily across the front. She held the holotape up and scanned it with her Pip-Boy, dreading the answers that her father may have left for her, dreading the words he may have left unsaid.

Yet another way to say goodbye, she contemplated, shutting her old friend's eyes and leaving him behind.

* * *

"I actually did it," she breathed, not daring to believe it as the Vault shook itself awake with a groan and a hiss. The door was right there, right in front of her, the fabled door that never opened. And here it was, _right in front of her,_ opening. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or sob as she headed down the steps and through the tunnel that lay beyond. A simple wooden door was situated at the end, blinding slats of light piercing through the cracks in the wood.

As she pressed her palm against the door, Grace knew that this was everything. This was the adventure she'd always dreamed of, the childhood fantasy she'd already half-forgotten. This was the tall grass tickling her feet and the sun burning her back. This was the answers she'd once demanded, the truth about the Outside World, this was the promise of hope and freedom and a world so much bigger than she'd ever had the chance to know. This was everything. This was impossible. This was a dream. This was real. It was real and it was her life and it was everything that could ever matter.

Grace Arlyn pushed the door open and left Vault 101.


	3. P is For Perception!

_"I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong, and there's really no telling how The Overseer will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe some day things will change and we can see each other again, but I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going. Be good, Gracie. Be safe. Be the best damn doctor in that Vault, can you do that for me? I don't have much time, Grace. I hope you can forgive me for this, some day._

 _Goodbye. I love you."_

* * *

She stumbled into the piercing light, shielding her eyes from the burning horizon. Her legs wobbled beneath her; black spots danced across her vision and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. The ground cracked and crunched beneath her, the terrain sloped and uneven beneath her unsteady feet. A tall, blackened, twisted _thing_ stood to her left, rough against her palm as she leaned against it for support. After taking a gulp of metallic air she pressed on, finding her way to the edge of the cliff. Her vision cleared. Her legs buckled. She fell to her knees and looked out at the bleak horizon that stared so indifferently back at her, and she knew that she'd been wrong all along.

There was nothing left.

It was as if the world had been swept away by a colossal flood, leaving only crumbling buildings and war-tossed destruction in its wake. The barren land had swallowed up parts of the road and every path was littered with burnt-out vehicles or their abandoned parts. The disfigured silhouettes that burned through the colourless horizon were barely recognisable as trees, brittle and thin and covered in the ash that lay in her lungs. She choked down the Old World dust and forced herself to look on into the abyss, to match its calculating glare as it revealed its own collapsing devastation. Towering buildings cut through the skyline like a row of jagged teeth in a mouth that was ready to clamp down and swallow her whole.

She got to her feet after what seemed like hours, still shaking from the message her father had left behind. She'd hoped that at least - _at least_ he'd tell her where he was going, _at least_ what he was trying to do, _at least_ why he had to leave. She'd lived her entire life believing that her father would always leave footsteps for her to follow, but the wasteland was concealing every trace of him. This wasted expanse was calling to her, taunting her, urging her into this hopeless game of hide and seek. But she couldn't refuse. There was nothing left to run back to.

So she followed the path her dad had surely taken, the one that sloped downwards from the cliff and led her past a creaking water tower, low and squat and stained with rust. The shopping carts strewn across the road looked vaguely similar to the ones she'd seen in the posters, only there were no beaming pin-up ladies to push them along. A faded billboard leaned perilously against a partially collapsed building. Without her glasses, she could only make out the largest word. **SPRINGVALE.** It must have been a town of some sort, but everything that might have once made it beautiful had long since been blown away by the bombs. Most of the houses were frozen in a state of mid-collapse, the windows smashed or the roofs caved in, and their doors were boarded shut. Some of them didn't even have doors to boast of, reduced to little more than smoked-out shells.

But there was something beautiful about this broken world, despite all it had lost. The sun was climbing over the rocky horizon, and the tears that streamed down Grace's cheeks were no longer from the stinging pain that the light brought. She stopped in her tracks. The world fell to a hush. The wasteland held its breath and watched the smile blossom across her face, watched the awe light up in her eyes as she scurried back for a better view. She covered her grin to suppress the squeak that burst from her lips, something that was half a laugh, half a sob. It was the sound of grief-stricken joy from the mouth of a girl who never should have seen this sunrise, who never should have seen the glowing trail across her warm brown skin as she raised her hands to the sky and felt the growing warmth. She thought her breathless excitement would last forever, and a sign in the distance only strengthened that assurance.

 **WELCOME TO SPRINGVALE ELEMENTARY!**

Her eyes lit up. She sprinted towards the building with reckless abandon, giddy at the sensation of her boots slamming on the ground, the feeling of the stirring breeze playing with her nappy curls and the sudden heat that pooled on her cheeks. The school was far from good shape - it looked remarkably like a pumpkin with its topped sliced off and its insides scooped out in the way that the uppermost floors had completely caved in. What remained of the structure seemed good and strong, despite the ash-caked walls and the mounds of rubble where there might once have been grass. She wasn't sure what she'd find in here, but even the _idea_ of wandering through the classrooms and corridors had her heart aching with a tugging sort of urgency.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Grace pushed open the door.

Her stomach lurched. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hand grasped for purchase on the door frame as her legs swayed beneath her because God- _God,_ this was- this was- her intestines writhed and hot tears pricked her eyes because this wasn't real, this wasn't real, this was _impossible_ and everything she knew was breaking down around her because no, the world was not as she'd imagined because it was worse, so much worse than she had ever dreamed and her father had never been anything but a bare-faced liar. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready for this at all as a violent retch tore past her lips and she doubled over and threw up against the blood-spattered wall. She wasn't ready for this. God, not this. He hadn't told her about this, hadn't told her about anything and had everyone in Vault 101 been nothing but a goddamn liar, swearing that there was nothing left but really there _was_ and what was left was-

What was left was a bloodbath.

The fluorescent lights from the corridor ahead were just enough to illuminate the rightmost wall of the foyer, where two corpses were mounted. Her breaths grew sharp and shallow as she forced herself to look at the bodies, both spread-eagled and nailed horizontally, one beneath the other. They had both been decapitated. Thick clots of blood stuck to the wall in clumps and had congealed around the stumps of their necks. Looking up above the rusted metal cage in front of her, she found another corpse suspended from the ceiling by hooks. Two were lodged in the dead woman's ankles, one had been skewered upwards through her neck. The point protruded grotesquely from her open mouth. Grace gagged at the overpowering stench of decomposition, pulling Butch's jacket around her and edging closer to the cage. Giddy with exhaustion and disbelief, she laughed at the sight of the dead children's bones scattered across the metal floor.

Gunshot.

She threw herself to the ground with a terrified yelp. A sharp ringing swelled in her ears. She bit down a scream, scurrying behind the cage and pressing herself against the wall behind it. She sank down, gun held in tremulous hands as she peered around the corner, where there was nothing but a doorway and a man. Their eyes met. Grace swallowed a sob. He cocked his head drastically to one side, studying her with wide-eyed intensity. The cleaver in his hand glinted prettily against the flickering light. She watched, voiceless with terror as the stranger drew closer, wearing a shark-like grin of too many teeth. She had only a second, just a second to take in his red mohawk, his sunken eyes, his yellowing skin all splattered with blood. And when he spoke, his voice grated her skin like sandpaper.

"You one of those stray little birdies, sweetheart? All grown up and flyin' away from home?"

"I- I need help," she stammered. "Please, I- I'm just trying to find my dad."

"Runaway daddy, huh? Ain't that just precious?" He extended a hand to her. "Could be I might've saw 'im before. Could be he might've wandered in here."

She took his hand and let him haul her to her feet. "His- his name is James Arlyn, he's in his late forties, greying hair, a jumpsuit like mine. He- he came from the Vault, it isn't far from here, you might've seen him."

"Could be I might've," he grinned, and for a moment she thought that maybe everything would be alright. And then that moment was gone and his cleaver was at her throat. He was right behind her, pulling back a fistful of her hair and drawing a terrified squeak from her throat. "Could be I might've let ol' Stabhappy here bite right into his soft little neck, right here. Could be I might've stuck 'im on a hook and bled 'im like a mole rat 'til he got all stiff and cold and not screamin' anymore. Could be I might've cut off papa bird's flappy little wings and ate his big, juicy heart for dinner. Doesn't that sound like one of your bedtime stories, little birdie? How'd y' fancy gettin' eaten up by the Big Bad Wolf?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the gun in her belt. Stammered something incoherent. Closed her fingers around the pistol, the trigger.

Her finger jerked.

The man screamed and buckled. She leapt back as soon as his grip loosened, watching in alarm and terror as fell back against the wall and howled.

"I- I'm so sorry!" She sobbed, jumping in alarm when the bars of the cage rattled behind her. She shoved the pistol into her pocket. Things like _pain-induced delirium, unsanitized medical equipment_ and _hypovolemic shock_ danced around her brain as she scurried away from the curse-spitting stranger. As she babbled apologies, drool spilled from the screaming man's mouth, pooling with the thick, dark blood on the tiles beneath him. As much as she cried and begged for forgiveness, the stranger would only respond with the hysterical promise that he would send her back to her shiny little Vault piece by piece, then do repulsive things to her mother.

When he grabbed her wrist, she grabbed her gun.

Three concussive shots sounded. His grip loosened and fell away. She backed against the door, staring down at the dead man and screaming when she saw the corpse of her best friend's father. She saw his blood splattering the tiles, then Jonas' dead eyes and cracked glasses, then her best friend's accusing glare. She saw her father for the last time, last night, tucking her into bed, wishing her sweet dreams. Her grasping hand found the doorway and she sped through it, raced through the blood-splattered corridors until her lungs were burning. She stopped when she found the cage at the end of the hallway, barely large enough to fit the tiny skeleton within it.

Footsteps.

Her life became a maze of hallways. Her boots slammed against the rotten wood beneath her as she searched desperately for an exit, shouts rising all around her as the school dwellers caught scent of fresh meat. Bodies were suspended almost angelically from every room she passed. She shot past rooms full of busted terminals and scattered desks. She bolted through a kitchen with blood-soaked towels piled up in the sink and a body laid on the counter mid-dissection. She pelted her way past a row of almost-intact metal lockers.

And skidded to a halt.

Her eyes darted up and down the corridor. The footsteps grew louder with every ragged breath she took. With a hopeless sob, she slid her backpack towards the end of the hallway. It fell uselessly against the wall as if she'd abandoned it before turning the corner. She wrenched the locker open, cringing away from the sharp metal shriek. It was beautifully, blessedly empty, and big enough for her tiny body to stand in upright. So she did, shutting it tight and holding her breath as darkness swallowed her vision. Her sight was limited to the three thin vents right in front of her eyes. They wouldn't see her, she assured herself. If she just kept quiet, if she just held her breath, if she just held back her scream as the raiders pelted down the corridor after her.

One of them lingered.

She glided past the locker like some sort of angel, her white hair tumbling down her back in grease-slick tangles. Her leather armour was dyed black and cut to strips at the arms, her skin so pale it almost glowed beneath the dying light above, highlighting every cut and bruise. Her eyes were large and featureless, glazed over by a milky shade of white. She was blind, but her movements suggested otherwise. She craned her neck to stare into the light above, then wrapped her bony fingers around the nearest door frame to peer inside. By the time she reached the lockers, Grace had convinced herself that the woman knew exactly where she was. When the silence was sliced through by the sound of a blade against metal, she squeezed her eyes shut and bit down hard on her hand to stop herself from screaming.

 _"I hear your heartbeat, little angel... you aren't like the rest, but they'll hurt you anyway, oh, they will... always do..."_

Her whispers grew louder with every echoing step.

 _"Hurt me too, took me from the nice place... took me from the church, took me from the bomb... the bomb took my trees, it ate my eyes but, oh, it was so sweet... They bite, you know, oh, they bite... They let you run away but then they get you... always get you... always make you bleed... nothing you can do in this wasteland but bleed..."_

The knife missed her throat by inches. It skewered through the metal and cut a sliver of light through the darkness, the tip planting a cold kiss on her jugular before the raider twisted it back. Grace screamed as the next blow came, grazing her arm before she could grab her gun. She pressed herself against the back of the locker as far as her body would allow as the raider stabbed once more. It missed her eye by millimetres. She gathered her courage and kicked the door open. The raider jumped back in alarm, giving her a few precious seconds to side-step the following blow. She reached for the bag at her back, feeling for the baseball bat that wasn't there.

"Don't make me kill you," Grace whimpered, raising her gun half-heartedly at the blind woman. "Please, please- I don't want to kill you."

But she lunged again and Grace killed her.

There was no time to react to the third corpse she'd made today, no time to even think as she pelted down the hall and retrieved her bag. An icy hand clutched at her heart. She had no way to tell where the others had gone, no way to tell which direction would lead her out. So she hurtled right, towards another rusted cage installed in the crumbling wall. She stumbled dazedly back from the cell, legs locked in place until her eyes found the open door to her right.

It was a classroom. And for a moment, it was hers.

* * *

 _"Correct again, Miss Arlyn - nice work! Looks like you're all set for the G.O.A.T exam, correct?"_

 _"This fuckin' know-it-all's gettin' on my nerves!"  
_

 _"Alright, class, time to hand in your projects."_

 _"If that smiley bitch puts her hand up one more time I'm gonna break it."_

 _"You must be following in your father's footsteps, Miss Arlyn. One-hundred percent - great job!"_

 _"Mr. Brotch, I think there's a mistake in the exam. You put me down for Electrical Maintenance, but you told me I was going to be a doctor."_

 _"No one listens to a goddamn word you say, Mr. Crotch! No one but Miss Fucking Perfection here gives a shit about your stupid exam!"_

 _"Between you and me, Grace, the whole thing's a joke. I'll put you down for Vault Doctor and tell Miss Royce that we made a mistake."_

 _"Garbage Burner? Are you fucking kidding me?! No way, man, you're a fuckin' joke, this whole thing's a fucking joke!"_

 _"The exam really means that little? I thought it was supposed to decide our future!"_

 _"Look, Grace, you're a smart kid, so I'll tell it to you straight. This Vault's survived for over two hundred years because the youth of today are capable of turning handles and pressing buttons. We wake up every day, do our goddamn jobs to keep the lights on and the water running, and we do that so the youth of tomorrow survive to turn more handles and press more buttons. It's a joke. It's pointless."_

 _"It's pointless! It's fucking pointless! You can't tell the Tunnel Snakes what to do! Tunnel Snakes rule!"_

 _"It isn't pointless. This place means something! It keeps us alive, it keeps us safe. It's home, Mr. Brotch. That has to mean something."_

* * *

She took a hopeful step towards it and the vice clamped down.

She was lifted off her feet. There were arms grabbing her from behind, pulling her back as she reached hopelessly for the classroom. The cackling voice in her ear was swallowed by her own desperate shrieks. The ground rushed up to meet her. The classroom door was slammed shut. Something warm and runny trickled over her eye. Her vision swam. Her head pounded. When she touched her fingers to her temple, they came back glistening red. A shadow was looming above her, its face cracked apart by a wide yellow smile. She scurried back from the approaching figure until her back hit a stack of upturned desks. She spotted her pistol lying by the cell bars, too far away to reach. She looked up at the smiling raider with pleading eyes, and she saw the pool cue in his hands, and she saw the skeletons scattered behind him, and she saw her father's face as he wished her goodnight, and she knew that she was going to die.

But not yet.

She grabbed the legs of the desk and hurled it with all her might. The raider fell back with a cry of alarm. She reached for the fallen chair behind her and tossed it at his head, silencing his threats. Footsteps shuddered along the corridor behind her. Grace reached for the baseball bat in her bag and jumped to her feet, swerving around to meet the oncoming raiders. A man and a woman. A pool cue and a pistol. She swung her bat in a wide upward arc, knocking the gun out of the woman's hand before slamming the bat down on her skull with a sharp _crack._

She raised her bat for one final blow to the remaining raider, but he beat her to the punch. He slammed her against the wall and held her there by the throat, dropping his weapon and using both hands to squeeze her neck with an intensity that crushed. His skin was bursting with muscle, his eyes wide with manic delight as he lifted her effortlessly off the ground. She struggled and squirmed and fought desperately for breath, but her airways were clamped shut and her vision was growing dark. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she raked at the raider's eyes, tried to push her thumbs into his eye sockets and slam her fists against his head. Coloured spots danced across her vision.

* * *

 _"It's alright, Gracie, you're safe now. No more nightmares, shh, that's it. Daddy's got you."_

 _"Keep acing these tests, Miss Arlyn, and we'll have to move you up a grade."_

 _"It's okay, see? Just a little cut, it's alright. Good thing Daddy's a doctor - he knows just the kiss to make it better."_

 _"What are you looking at? Stop gawking and get back to work! Selfish and insubordinate, just like your father!"_

 _"Just because I'm The Overseer's daughter, so what? Like I get any special treatment? My dad hates me just as much as he hates everyone else."_

 _"Don't give me that - you were drunk, all of you! What if The Overseer had walked in instead of me, did you think about that?!"_

 _"From now on, you just count on your ol' pal Jonas to help you out."_

 _"Alright, it's time we had a little talk. See, boys and girls have different parts..."_

* * *

She slammed her foot into the raider's groin. He howled in agony, loosening his grip enough for her to force him off her and push him to the ground. She fell back against the wall, gulping down air and grabbing her bat from the floor. She didn't dare sob, didn't dare scream or cry or wish for home again. The pain in her throat was like fire, consuming every hope she had to voice. So she gathered all the fear, all the anger and hatred and desperation, and she pushed it into her body, into her muscles, her arms, her fists. And when the raider got to his feet again, she swung the bat with everything in her and knocked his head right out of the park.

* * *

The road ended past Springvale Elementary, bringing her to an empty playground filled with more garbage than games. A chalked-out game of hopscotch had miraculously survived The Great War, but the rusted slide and creaking round-about were just about ready to fall. She spent a while wandering around the place, sitting on the collapsing old swing set and looking out at the lake beyond as the bruises began to show on her throat, as the blood began to dry around her head, as the cut began to seal across her arm. She gazed out at the horizon, broken and bleak, and decided that north was as good a direction to go as any.

So she set off, rendered mute by a stranger's hand around her throat, too exhausted to weep for the scattered remnants of the Old World. Tears streamed down her face but she was silent, and alone, and the jacket she hugged around her body wasn't enough to bring her warmth. What carried her forward was the thought of home, of her father, and the polaroid she clutched so tightly in her hands, scared that she would lose it to the growing wind.

It was a picture of a man with a lab coat, and kind eyes, and a laugh that crinkled his face. Beaming next to him was a girl of ten years old, with a springy mane of hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She kept it close to her, held it to her heart, wished she could remember who had taken the photo, and when, and why, and what had made them look so happy.

As the sun began to climb beyond the crumbling horizon, her radio picked up a familiar song.

* * *

 _"Don't know why I left the homestead,_

 _I really must confess._

 _I'm a weary exile,_

 _Singing my song of loneliness._

 _The pals are the readiest, t_ _he gals are the steadiest,_

 _The love the liveliest,_ _the life the loveliest,_

 _Way back home!"_


	4. E is for Endurance!

_"We live in an age of poverty, greed, violence, destruction. Indeed, the very seat of the federal government, Washington D.C, has been reduced to what is now known as The Capital Wasteland. How did it come to this, sweet America? How did our leaders allow the most powerful nation on Earth to die?"_

* * *

Grace Arlyn was covered in somebody else's blood. The sun was hot against her back as she headed across the beaten road, but her body was seized by violent tremors. There was a cold in her, a bitter chill that flowed through her veins like a slow-moving river across a barren valley. It was nestling in her stomach and crawling up her throat and she swore to herself that after one more step, she could rest. One more step and she could fall. One more step and she could cry at last, one more step and she could empty herself of the flood that was welling up inside her. The tidal wave in her throat was almost too much to contain. One more step and she could let it go. One more step and she could grieve. One more step and she could scream at the sky and long for home. One more step and she could turn back, run away, retrace every footprint until she was safe at the mouth of her vault again, safe in the promises of home. She swore to herself that after one more step, she could pound against that metal door until her legs gave out and her knuckles bled.

She couldn't go on.

But she did. The road sloped onwards and onwards and onwards, an interminable stretch of dusty asphalt that seemed to cut through the glowing horizon. Knowing she was a murderer, knowing she was a monster, Grace continued towards the abyss with the whispered promise that she would return to Vault 101 as soon as she recovered, as soon as she'd found a place to rest a while. She would tell The Overseer how sorry she was, assure him that she was just a stupid little girl who'd made a very foolish mistake. Amata would welcome her back with open arms - even Butch would be happy to see her. The girls on her level would look at her with such awe and fascination, because _she_ was the girl who had dared escape the vault, that bookish little girl who everyone thought was such a goody-two-shoes, _she_ was the one who'd broken the biggest rule of all. And when her father found out what she'd been up to, oh, he'd be so angry. He'd ask her what her mother would think, and had Catherine Arlyn really died just so her only child could go parading off into The Wasteland on some ridiculous adventure? She'd be grounded. The Overseer would assign her some menial garbage burning position until she learned her lesson. But he would forgive her in time, they all would. In the end, her father would just be happy that his little girl was safe.

The passing Eye-Bot shook her from her fantasy. Small, round, and hovering about five feet from the air, the robot was singing the same happy tune that was currently playing on her Pip-Boy radio. This was the third of its kind that she'd come across so far, but still she found herself mesmerised by the adorable contraption. The design was fairly simplistic, with its most noticeable features being the combat inhibitor on top of its basketball-sized body and the laser zapper below, but she'd never seen anything like it in Vault 101. The model was as strange and unfamiliar as the messages it broadcast from its speakers. She'd only heard a couple of fragments so far, but the so-called Enclave Radio featured a feverishly patriotic man who seemed to talk about nothing but democracy, the future, and the tragedy of Sweet America's destruction. Although the information was interesting and the tunes fairly catchy, she hoped she'd pick up a better signal soon.

After another few minutes of listening to wordless music and staring with fascination at the trees and lampposts she passed by, the road sloped upwards and branched off in three directions. She'd walked straight into what looked like an abandoned town, made up of dingy white-washed buildings with their windows and doors boarded shut. A billboard stood atop a squat structure to her left, advertising the safe and sound utopia of her local vault. She felt a pang in her chest as she turned off the radio and headed down the quiet street. There was some kind of makeshift blockade up ahead, but she couldn't see anyone around. A faded sign on the nearest wall read _Fairfax Ruins,_ so she added the marker to her Pip-Boy map and labelled it accordingly.

That was when she fell through the ground.

Grace felt the graze on her arm tearing open as she was smacked onto concrete. Her chin slammed on the ground and her teeth sliced through her tongue. She tasted blood in her mouth as she pulled herself up, heart pounding erratically. When she looked up, scraping back hair from her face, she found that the sky was little more than a person-sized rectangle above her. Birds the size of pencil points swooped by only to be out of sight in a second. The piercing blue made her eyes water, though that may have been the pain that stabbed her side as she struggled to her feet. By pressing herself against the far wall and stretching on her tiptoes, she could almost see the mechanism at the uppermost part of the opposite wall. It was a trap door. She'd fallen through an actual trap door.

She almost laughed, but the oncoming voices silenced her at once. She could barely make out the conversation, but she could pinpoint some familiar words from back in Springvale Elementary. _Fresh meat, little birdie, bleeder._ She scrambled into a corner, grabbing her gun and holding it tight. But when she turned her head just slightly to the wall behind her, she saw that it had a handle. She saw that it was a _door._ She shoved it open and slammed it behind her, stumbling into what looked like an old storage room. There wasn't much to be found aside from a couple of discarded shopping carts and few large steel boxes, some tinted green and brown with wear. A couple of first-aid kits were stacked on a wide table in front of her, and an empty shelf stood by the door, with a dented old garbage can next to it.

She didn't have time to waste. She knocked the garbage can aside, letting it fall with a hollow _clang_ at her feet before tightening her hands around the bars of the shelf. It resisted her pulling with a sharp squeal of metal, protesting so angrily that she had no choice but to head to the other side and shove. A little more progress. A little more force. A little less time to waste as she heard the echoing of footsteps from somewhere unseen. The screwed her eyes shut and gave once last push. The shelf fell forward, blocking the door completely. Grace allowed herself a silent cheer as she went rooting through the crates on the occupied shelves. She found stacks and stacks of ammo inside, and for a moment, she was almost delighted. She knew that a cartridge - or round - contained a bullet, a cartridge case, gunpowder and a primer. She knew that a bullet was the thing that shot through the barrel towards the target at approximately two-thousand-five-hundred feet per second. But she had no idea which bullets were the right ones, not without experimenting to see which cartridges would fit her pistol. She decided to open her backpack and throw in as much as she could fit.

 _"Alright, who is that?!"_

As she emptied the first-aid kits into her bag, something gave a mechanical _screech_ and a _hiss._ Two panels on the floor lifted and shrunk back to reveal a metal staircase beneath. Grace shrank down behind the shelves, frantically fumbling with her pistol. She remembered reloading her BB gun back home - why should this one be different? She tried to pull back the lever. Where _was_ it? The bullets went in from the bottom, didn't they? She looked at the bottom, closing her trembling fingers around the grip and uselessly trying to pull it downwards. Nothing. Footsteps. Seconds left to reload this stupid gun before whoever was climbing those steps found her and killed her. Two seconds to cock the gun ineffectively. One second to find the magazine release and watch the empty magazine clatter to the floor. Half a second to search desperately for a replacement in her bag.

Out of time.

A hand clamped around her hair and dragged her upwards. Grace shrieked as her violently thrashing legs were lifted into the air. She threw her weight against her captor and sent him stumbling back against the wall. When the raider tried to cover Grace's mouth with his hand, she sank her teeth into him, making a guttural sound like some rabid dog as he tossed her effortlessly against one of the shelves. There was a flash of sharp teeth and sunken eyes. Something cold and hard smacked across her face. She scurried back in time for the raider to plant a hard kick on her jaw. Her head slammed back against the shelf. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She was hauled to her feet again, barely conscious as the raider held her against the wall. She screwed her eyes shut, and for a moment her world was nothing more than the raider's heaving breaths, his hands around her waist, his voice in her ear.

"Slicer told me that little trap up there wouldn't do any good. Oh, man, was he wrong."

She cringed back as the raider dragged his tongue from her jaw to her forehead, tightening his grip around her body as she struggled.

"I always bag the juiciest ones. Heard you little Vault girlies taste so fuckin' good."

He pressed his lips against hers. She pounded her fists against his chest. He bit down hard on her lip. She kicked at his shins. He spun her around and sent her crashing to the ground on her back. Her head slammed against the floor. She screamed and begged in words that pooled like blood in her mouth as she clambered away. The raider advanced, pinning her down with one hand. His face was shattered by a wide smile that never reached his eyes. Cracked lips were pressed against her skin once more as he kissed her face and rubbed his hands down her jumpsuit. He searched for the zip on her back. She searched for a weapon. He found it. She found it. He pulled her onto his lap and tugged down her zip, exposing her bare skin to the cool air. She swallowed her fear and returned his kisses, fighting her body's desperate urge to recoil at every touch of his hands as he pulled down her jumpsuit. A pair of icy hands were clamped around her burning lungs, squeezing at her heart, fighting off every breath. He stiffened against her. Her hand tightened around the weapon as his belt.

Her attacker's eyes widened as the knife glinted above him. Half a hundred thought flickered across his face in a dying spectrum of emotion. He made a jerky movement towards her and she plunged the knife down. The raider writhed and twitched beneath her as she carved a chasm across his throat. A wordless scream of guilt and grief echoed off the walls as her skin was drenched in blood, as the raider thrashed hopelessly on the floor, as a bubbling pool of crimson smothered his final breath. She pulled the knife out and threw it aside, filling the room with the sounds of her agony as the stranger died beneath her. Alone beneath the ruins of a fallen city, Grace Arlyn screamed for everything that was lost to her. She mourned with everything in her, she mourned with her body and soul as memories filled her up so completely that they spilled from her mouth. Her harrowed mind tore itself apart a million times. What was she doing out here? What could she possibly hope to find? Her father? No, no, not anymore, not after this. What would he say when he found out what she'd done? She'd killed people today. _She'd killed five people._ How could she go home after that? Who in the world would love her again after that?

She tore herself away from the twitching body, her back knocking against the shelf behind her. She strangled the sob that rose in her throat, zipped her jumpsuit, retrieved her gun and hurried down the steps. The tunnel rang with the clashes of her hollow footsteps as she raced down its steep metal throat. She was met by two long corridors. The one to her left sloped downwards into darkness, so she opted for the path ahead, ending in an upwards staircase. She'd only just began to move for it when a leather-clad figure emerged from the door to her left. Grace caught one glimpse of the arclight helmet and flamethrower before she made a break for it. The raider gave an angry shout as she tore straight past him and made for the stairs. She heard a fatal _click_ as gas sparked behind her and footsteps pounded in her head. Flames licked her back, leaving a searing trail of agony burning through her. She toppled to the floor, chin bouncing off the metal, but still she crawled. She turned her prone body around to face her attacker, to stare with steely eyes into the sinister glint of the helmet's screen.

The raider revved up the flamer and she lunged for him, grabbing her knife and stabbing through his ankle. The huge weapon dropped to the ground with a raucous clatter as text book diagrams flashed across her vision. The tibia, the fibula and the calcaneus were all parts of the ankle. The three major ligaments were posterior talo-fibular, the anterior talo-fibular, and the calcaneo-fibular. The raider dropped in squirming agony as she sawed through his Achilles tendon, teeth gritted, heartbeat steady. She moved with surgical concentration as blood pooled on the floor and the raider screeched. Then, with an air of sudden calmness that seemed to wash over her like she'd dunked her head under warm water, Grace got to her feet, picked up the flamer and pulled back the trigger. Flames flickered in her heart as the wailing man's flesh peeled off in bloody strips, like long, wet rags. She watched with unshakeable detachment as the skin on his face rolled back from his lips and forced a burning grin from him. She watched as his body twitched and grew limp, wrinkled her nose at the overpowering stench of burning fabric as his eyes turned to jelly and disappeared into his skull. Then, she dropped the flamer. Then, she turned away. Then, she said goodbye to every hope of home and headed up the steps into daylight.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry about the wait. All I can say is Fallout 4, bro.**


	5. C is for Charisma!

_"How did it come to this, America? How did your leaders allow the most powerful nation on Earth… to die? The answer is really quite simple: Incompetence. Incompetence at the highest echelons of power. We put our trust, our faith, in halfwits. Our intrepid leaders had everything they wanted! Power. Wealth. Prestige. And it made them lazy, America. Oh yes, and laziness breeds stupidity."_

* * *

Grace Arlyn knew that there were three different types of cloud. Cumulus, Stratus, Cirrus. Cumulus, Stratus, Cirrus. Cumulus, Stratus, Cirrus. She also knew how clouds were formed. She knew that sunlight warms the water's surface, evaporating the water and forming a warm layer above it. The rising air currents organise themselves into thermals, and these rising parcels of water vapour rise to form clouds. She'd done a surprise test on clouds when she was nine. She'd once made a cloud inside a mason jar using some ice cubes, boiling water and a can of her father's deodorant. When she was eleven, she'd been caught up in some daydream about playing outdoors and had walked straight into Old Lady Palmer, who'd scolded her gently for having her head in the clouds. When she was sixteen, she'd blown clouds of hazy smoke up towards the ceiling, the sound of giddy laughter shuddering in the air. She took a desperate sort of comfort from these memories as the storm began to gather overhead, casting a sickly green glow across the wasteland. It spread like a cancer across the horizon until she could feel its growing violence in her bones. She ached for the destruction it would bring, desperate for a storm to match her rage.

The wasteland soon delivered. With an almighty _crack_ that shook the ground beneath her, the rumbling sky came alive with thundering ferocity. Rain hammered against the earth; jagged forks of white-green lightning pierced the horizon and crackled through her veins. Her entire body was surging with ecstasy as she raised her face to the sky and opened her body to the storm. Breathless, she shook out her hair and reached towards the quaking sky. Icy droplets kissed her skin and shook her back to life, enveloping her in a freezing rush of adrenaline. She almost skipped along the glistening road as she remembered every night spent dreaming about this moment, about every ice-cold shower taken with closed eyes as she imagined the rush of rainfall down her spine. She raced headlong through the oceanic avalanche until the hazy blur of buildings became visible in the distance. As she headed towards it - keeping one hand tense on the pistol shoved in her pocket - she found a sign that stood out against the blurry sheet of rain.

 _ **WELCOME TO CARRINGTON - ENJOY YOUR STAY!**_

The town was alive with activity, despite the impending nightfall and pouring rain. It was spread across a short stretch of wasteland like a shoddily stitched blanket, pulled together from both pre-war and post-apocalyptic thread. Some buildings were similar to the ones she'd seen back in Springvale, made from crumbly brick and partially collapsed roofs, some surrounded by crooked picket fences. Others seemed to have been built more recently, made entirely from scrap metal and wood. By the time she reached the entrance to the town, the rain had died down enough to allow a clear view of the people who lived in it. Most wore ragtag pieces of clothing that she supposed must have been scavenged - button-down shirts, leather coats, ratty jeans and an assortment of different patched-up hats were visible among the gathering crowd. Others were more heavily armoured, dressed uniformly in black metal and helmets. Some of the townspeople eyed her with suspicion, but quickly brushed past her to gather in the centre of the town. Confused, curious, eager to find some shelter in a place that wasn't out to kill her, she fell in with the crowd and kept her head bowed low.

Until a screaming voice pierced through the storm.

 _"Help me! Help me! Get off me! What the hell is wrong with you?! Somebody help!"_

Her gaze snapped upwards. She stretched on her tiptoes in search of the voice, managing to squeeze between two locals and finally get a view of what they all were gathering around. A tall wooden post stood dead in the centre of the newly formed circle of townsfolk, surrounded by barrels of fire and twisting piles of hempen rope. Stacks of wood stood around the crude post. Directly across from where she was standing, a number of armed guards were dragging a screaming women across the town, towards the murmuring congregation. The rain had ceased but the thunder was loud, and still this stranger's voice broke through the waging war in the sky as she thrashed against her captors. Grace looked frantically at the faces around her, searching for an expression other than indifference, other than vague annoyance and discontent.

"What's going on?" She asked, as the captured woman twisted and turned in the arms of one of the silent guards. "Why aren't you doing something?!"

"Ain't y'ever heard of a goddamn witch?" Replied the man nearest to her, from behind a thick grey tangle of beard. His eyes were hidden by a low cap.

"Witch?" She repeated blankly, watching as the woman broke free for just a second, and took a few bounding steps before the guards dragged her to the ground.

"You don't live here. What th' hell you doin' here, anyway?" He spat on the ground and returned his eyes to the scene before them. "It's town custom, s'just what we do to folks like her. You best get gone, stranger. That witch ain't gonna be pretty much longer."

"What did she do?" Grace pressed, quickly growing frantic. "Is she a criminal? What are they gonna do to her?"

"Jesus Christ, kid." He turned to face her. "She's trouble, jes' like the rest of 'em. Come waltzin' in with eyes like thunder an' lips like blood, that's what the Mayor says. Thought it was stupid for a while, but he meant what he said. They bring storms with 'em, jes' like this 'un. They store their treasure in their veins, they're devils of impurity - they drag men off in the middle of the night like those Black Widow spiders, then they bite off their heads and feast on their blood. Used to jus' call 'em whores until the Mayor told us their true name. Goddamn witches, you can tell just by lookin' at her. We burn 'em, and the rest of 'em keep away for a while. Crops get good, weather gets brighter, sick people suddenly get better. It's a bit o' fun every now and then, bit of excitement."

Grace looked on, eyes wide with horror as the struggling girl was thrown against the post. Her arms were twisted forcefully behind her back.

"Look, stranger, this is just how it is. Some of us don't like it too much, some of us think it's a show. Doesn't matter. We round up witches and they let us stay here, they keep us safe. Me? I don't mind throwin' a couple o' whores to the fire if that's all it takes to keep the Mayor at peace. Jus' sit tight and yell like the others, that'll get you a bed for the night, place to stay a while. There's no helpin' this one now."

She felt as though she was rooted to the spot, unable to avert her eyes as the scene unfolded before her. A guard tied the woman's hands behind her back, keeping her secured to the post. Another approached with a cannister of gasoline. The crowd began to yell and curse. The woman's eyes darted from face to face, her breathing heavy and laboured as her struggling finally ceased. The guard lashed gasoline across the piles of rope and stacks of wood, drenching every inch of the twisted pyre they'd made for this screaming stranger. Another lit a torch with one of the burning barrels. The woman's eyes locked on Grace's, and for a moment the town was silent. The world was still. This desperate, wide-eyed stranger with sweat-slick hair and a voice like a hurricane looked her dead in the eyes, and mouthed one thing.

 _Help me._

Grace dropped to her knees. She unzipped her backpack and rooted through it, mind whirring with a million things that could go wrong. She remembered panicked seconds of leaving home behind, of packing her things and saying goodbye. She'd swiped her desk clean that day - it had been a Monday and Amata had been in her room that night and she'd stayed up late revising her medical notes and they'd considered getting high and then decided against it, they'd played ping pong over her desk and she'd left a sandwich half-eaten on her counter before heading to bed.

She knew exactly what to do.

She found the ping-pong ball first, her hand closing tight around it. Next was her penknife from the stationary kit she'd been gifted one birthday. The woman began to scream again. Grace's eyes darted upwards and she found that the stranger was dripping with gasoline, spitting it on the ground. She punctured a hole through the ping-pong ball with her knife. Her hand slipped and she nicked her thumb. She searched for her pencil, buried among piles of crumpled paper, and stuck it through the newly-pierced hole. Finally, she moved on to her half-finished sandwich, still wrapped in aluminium foil. She tossed the sandwich, straightened the foil, covered the ball and the pencil entirely then slid the pencil out. She rose to her feet. Slung her bag over her shoulder. The torch had alright been cast to the ground and fire was eating up the coils of rope, climbing up the stacks of wood and licking at the pyre. Grace tapped at the man with the beard. "I need a cigarette," she said, but his attention was fixed on the spreading flame. "I need a cigarette! I need a lighter! Hey! Can you hear me?"

He slapped something small and plastic into her palm without glancing in her direction. Grace could barely contain her terror and delight. She wrapped her free hand around the lighter, ignited it with a soft _click_ and held it beneath her newly-designed smoke bomb. A thick white cloud began to billow from its chimney. Grace shoved through the rest of the crowd, pushing her way towards the helpless woman whose bare feet were now bright red and blistering. She dropped the bomb in the centre of the crowd. The smoke spread in a hazy dome around the pyre, creating a thick grey barrier across her vision as she fumbled with the ropes that bound the woman to her post. She pulled them loose. The stranger fell heavily on her hands and knees, but didn't waste another second before scrambling to her feet. The guards drew their weapons. Grace took the stranger's hand. Together, they sprinted across the road ahead and left the blinding haze behind as bullets echoed behind them.

* * *

The stranger caught her breath before Grace did. The rain had picked up again and was lashing at their backs, flooding the wasteland's quiet ambience and drenching them both to the skin. The witch - though Grace doubted those accusations had been true - made a futile attempt at wringing out her sopping wet hair, then signalled to her rescuer to head towards the abandoned diner just off the road. She swung open the glass door and ushered Grace inside, then shut it behind her to dull the raging storm. She leaned her head back against the door for a moment and shut her eyes, then made her way across the cracked tiles with a noticeable limp in her step. Her pain was evident in every unsteady movement, until she sank down into one of the booths and took the time to examine herself. Her wrists were red and raw, and to Grace's visible horror, barbed wire was twisted around her legs and blistering feet, leaving dried-up trails of blood across her bare skin.

"Is there anything I can do?" Grace asked, gingerly setting her backpack down on the table next to the bleeding stranger.

"You could spare me some Med-X and clear out," she suggested with a pained wince. "You already saved my life, I owe you enough."

"You don't have to repay me," she assured her, taking the useless supplies out of her bag and setting them aside before rooting for her medical equipment.

The woman raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. She really was beautiful, Grace noticed, beneath the sharp-edged layers of hostility. Her eyes were sly and her muscles lean and tight; she'd shaved off half of her wild tangle of black hair, leaving one side bare and the other to fall just below her chest. Her lips were full and dark, and there was something graceful about the way she pulled the barbs from her shivering legs. Grace was painfully aware of every clumsy movement as she produced her medical kit and the syringe from within it, then rushed to the woman's side before she did herself any more damage.

"Jesus Christ," the woman breathed, though more in surprise than pain as Grace told her to hold still before injecting the Med-X into her wrist. There was a slanting smirk on her lips when she asked, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm qualified," she assured her with a hasty smile, setting the empty needle on the table then moving for the jagged string of wire on the stranger's right leg. "You don't have to worry about getting an infection or anything - I'm a doctor. Promise."

"That's the worrying thing," she replied, but said no more until the painkillers kicked in and one leg was half-free of wire. "Tell me you scavenged that vault suit from somewhere, and tell me that fish-out-of-water thing you've got going on is just your natural look. Otherwise, you're in a nuclear barrel of shit."

"Actually, I'm from Vault 101. It's my first time out here and, uh, things haven't been pleasant."

"Oh, Christ. _Christ._ What the hell are you doing out here? And how long since you got out?"

"A few hours, I think. It's, uh... Well, it's a long story."

"I've got the time. More than you, by the looks of it. Vault kids don't live long around here, trust me."

Grace frowned and set the second string of wire aside. "There are more vaults around here? Open vaults?"

"Sure, I've seen a few. None of 'em are actually active, though. Hell, you don't wanna see the mess they made of those poor bastards. Vault-Tec, I mean. I've been scavving through a couple, came across some pretty nasty shit on those terminals they keep. Social experiments, chemical tests, the same sick story over and over again. But all those other vaults are dead. No one comes out of there, because everybody died in them centuries ago. Vault 101, it's the only one still functioning. We get runners every now and then, so I'm told. Every few years you find another dead bastard in a vault suit with no one to bury them."

Grace gave a nervous laugh and sat on the chair opposite this stranger, suddenly wary. "That's not true," she replied. "My dad was the first person to ever leave the vault. That's why I'm out here," she added, "I'm looking for him."

"Aw, hell. Heard about the brainwashing they do in that place. What was it again? Born in the vault, die in the vault, all hail the Man in Charge?"

"Yeah, exactly," she snapped, suddenly defensive. It was _her_ who had just arrived out of the vault, she knew what it was like down there much better than this stranger did. "But it wasn't brainwashing! We were safe there, we were happy. No one killed each other or tried to- tried to hurt each other, and no one ever had to-"

"Alright, alright." The stranger raised her hands in surrender. "Doesn't matter to me, alright? Only thing that concerns me now is where you're going next. Believe it or not, Carrington's a pretty hospitable place compared to anything else you're likely to find out here. From the look of you, I'd say you've had a couple of close-calls with some raiders, right?" She didn't wait for a response. "Trust me, stranger, those assholes are a walk in the park compared to the Geiger counter monstrosities going on across the water. Where _is_ your dad, anyway?" She leaned over the table a little too closely for Grace's comfort.

"I- I don't know," she admitted. "He never told me."

"Fantastic," she said, rolling her eyes and sitting back down. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, then."

"Hold on - what?"

"You saved my life, I owe you one, and-"

"You don't have to-"

 _"And,"_ she continued sharply, "I could use a little excitement. Don't get me wrong, I could probably do a lot better under usual circumstances, but these aren't, and our fiery little friends back in Carrington took all my stuff."

"Yeah, about that," she began gingerly. "What happened? Why did they tie you up like that?"

She flashed a brilliant, lopsided smile. "That's a campfire story, and we aren't on the road yet. I was thinking we could head through Andale - those guys always let you stay for dinner. We could ask around about your dad, see if we can find any leads. It'll be fun. And it seems like you've got a knack for waltzing into raider gangs. I could always make use of that."

"I don't know," she replied carefully. She hadn't assumed this woman might be dangerous at first, but her unnervingly calm demeanour and that wicked smile had her spiralling further and further into serial killer territory. "Really, I think I'd be better by myself. You seem nice and everything, but-"

"No I don't," she retorted, "that's why you need me at your side. Believe what you want about your vault, I don't care, but I'm telling you right now that your kind don't stand a chance out here by themselves. Not even with that gadget on your wrist. Besides, I have a dazzling personality and charisma that could kill a man. I keep you safe, you patch me up, we have a really great time and you find your dad. There's more in that for me than you know, so don't worry about me feeling inconvenienced." She extended her hand. "Go on. Pretty please?"

With a shy half-smile, she took the stranger's hand and shook it. "Okay, okay, I guess you're right. My name's Grace Arlyn. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," she smirked. "You can call me O'Reilly."


End file.
